Again

There are days no one likes to remember, but no one can ever forget. For me today is that day, October 26, 1995 is the day that my beautiful perfect angel-girl Taylor Nicole left this world. She was three days shy of 9 months old, and unable to survive a surgery to repair her sick little heart. In the 14 years that have passed I have mourned heavily and without restraint. Last year was my first time to remember this day while raising my son. This year as Nibblet is 16 months old, I find today both easier and the worst that I have ever had. The emptiness is not as consuming because Nibblet is living a life his big sister never had the chance to live, but it is far more emotional as I struggle with the guilt of Nibblet's nepenthe.

So I ask that you forgive me the maudlin tone of the following letter to my daughter, and understand that today I do not want to discuss much of consequence.

My dearest Taylor Bug,

Can it truly have been 14 years since I last held you, and smothered you with kisses? I don't want to talk about the bad stuff, we've been over it a hundred times. I miss you, Bug. I love you, and I think of you everyday. I want you to know that even though your little brother has made it easier to wake up each morning, it's not because he has replaced you. Nothing could ever replace the most perfect little girl angel the world has ever known. He has made it possible to remember the good things about our too short time together. When your brother turned one, I cried and wished desperately that I had been able to give you a first birthday party, but as we lit the candles on his cake I knew you were there. I knew you were there for his first Christmas, and on our Gotcha Day when the adoption became final, I could feel you with me.

I know now that it's okay to be happy that I have Nibblet in my life, and know that you understand that he will never replace you. There are things that I will never do with him because those were our special things. I talk to him about you, and when we are playing in my bed he looks up at your pictures and smiles and chatters, and I know that you are listening and smiling.

I love you little girl,
Mommy

The One With the Squirrels

You may remember earlier this year that I was tasked with forming and heading the Suburban Squirrel Liberation Front. The SSFL is a one woman operation geared toward saving the masses of urban squirrels who inhabit the immediate area outside my back door. My father in law is...woodsy, he hunts, fishes, traps, and eats wild game. As a proud meat eater, I have no problem with this in theory. I only eat deer, and only occasionally, and only when I'm with them, because I like being the 'good' daughter in law. The man loves him some smothered squirrel, smothered in onions not with a pillow. To catch said squirrels he has squirrel traps, and I was completely bumfuzzled to find one of these traps in my backyard. Excuse me? My squirrels are not food! So I set about thwarting his every attempt to trap and eat my furry friends. Read the adventures HERE. I'll wait....caught up? Good.

Monday morning I took the dogs, Love and Nemesis, outside before I went to work. Nemesis is an idiot so I had to chase her around the shed to take back one of the shoes my husband left outside. As I yanked the shoe away from her and contemplated smacking her with it, I noticed the shiny new squirrel trap. DAMN! I had hoped that after the disappointing attempt last year my FIL would decide that it was pointless to try to kill my squirrels. Yet here I stood; Nemesis yanking on my pants leg, me holding my husband's dog drool covered tennis shoe, and looking down at a damn trap, luckily it was squirrel free. Okay mister, Game On! Brought the dogs back inside, sent the boys on their way to work and Grandma's respectively, and went back outside to spring the trap.

Making sure my husband and son were gone so I could thwart the serial squirrel killer spring the trap without being detected, I went back outside. Crap, a squirrel was now trapped in the...well it IS a trap. If you read the last post you will clearly remember the last squirrel liberation resulted in my being chased by the squirrel and making a fool of myself in front of the neighbors, so to say I was reluctant to free the booger would be an understatement, but I take my SSFL duties seriously and went about finding a stick with which to both spring the prisoner and beat it to death if it runs at me.

This time the parolee gave me no problems, I know how you were hoping for a story about my brush with rabies, sorry to disappoint. Let the little woodland creature out, shut the trap, went back inside to make my gallon o'coffee, and locked up the house to go to work. Standing in the driveway I hear the banging of the metal on cement coming from the back yard. I go back there and find the same squirrel banging on the cage trying to get to the pecans inside. How do I know it was the same squirrel? I'm guessing because it makes the story more interesting to have a stupid squirrel then just a curious second one. I scared the crap out of the squirrel when I yelled, "OY! I just got you out of there idiot!" and it ran off.

In the following days I rescued 3 more squirrels and tripped the trap 7 times. My husband is completely snookered as to how the trap keeps shutting itself, I play along because...really, I do like being the 'good' daughter in law. No more close calls with rabies, but it's early in the squirrel trapping season so I am sure that I will be regaling you with hilarious stories of ER visits and Rabies shots at some point...cuz well you people know me and my good dead is bound to come back and bite me in the arse.

Where is Mine?

I awoke this morning to the news that President Obama has been awarded a Nobel Peace Prize. My initial response was, "What the hell for?!"  "Say Wha?", and I must admit that I sounded like the arena full of reporters with my gasping surprise. I am not saying that I dislike our President, in fact I think given the TIME, he may one day do something to actually warrant a Peace Prize, but his simply being given one for NOT being President Bush cheapens the honor for those who actually deserved to receive one this year.

Media outlets on both sides of the spectrum are flummoxed by the batshit crazy unexpected naming of our President as a Nobel Honoree. Most of the pro-Obama media are pointing out that his win is an encouragement by the Noble committee to continue to make real his intentions regarding weapons proliferation, diplomatic dialouges, and his complete opposite approach to the world G.W.B had. Again I can only respond, "Say Wha?" He gets a PEACE PRIZE for INTENDING to do things? Hell if all you need is intention, then where is my Nobel prize for literature, cuz, I mean Damn I intend to write the most electrifying novel the world has ever seen. Someone get with the Nobel committee and point them to my blog so they can get me on the list for next year.

Cowboy Up!

So as many of you who know me in real life are aware I have been a demon for weight loss in the last few weeks. Tired of feeling like a prisoner in my own body, and tired of talking about doing it instead of actually doing it, I have cowboy'd up and been working out like a lunatic. It started innocuously enough, I'd play on the Wii Fit, walk on the treadmill, ride my stationary bike, and then torture myself with the Total Gym. All excellent places to start, but I wanted more, I needed more, I would not sleep until I had more. So I joined a gym to have access to a pool, worked with a sadistic trainer whom I've since released from my life, and in a fit of insanity last week, I purchased Jillian Michaels '30 Day Shred'.

I love Biggest Loser, I find the show and all of it's trainers and contestants motivating, but I love me Jillian, or lovED Jillian until the bitch entered my house. '30 Day Shred' really ought to be called '22 Minutes of Hell on Earth Hosted by the Evil Bitch-Queen Jillian Michaels.' I did the video for the first time last night, and to say that she kicks your ass the entire 22 minutes would be an understatement of such monumental proportions that...well there is no adequate comparison, she kills you, resurrects you, and then kills you again.

You know you've been pushed past your limit when you can't even find the strength in one of your fingers to push the 'Stop' button on your DVD remote. I was a quivering, sweaty, and breathless mess when it was over. I almost cried with relief when she said, 'Great Workout!' because I knew that meant that it was over. I am in so much pain today, the good 'Holy Flaming Crapballs, Batman! That was one hell of a workout!' pain, that it literally hurts to blink my eyelids. AND I LOVE IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

To show you how addictive this exercising thing can become, I am going to the gym during lunch to swim my 30 minutes so I can do the video again when I get home. I am not getting paid to advertise for Jillian Michaels, I am happy to this for free even without seeing any results yet, but hey! it's only been one day. The video is effective, you don't feel this kind of sore unless you have actually DONE something heavy duty. I haven't gotten on a scale yet, but I am sure I am slowly whittling down the number on the scale as my husband last night walked in the house, saw me in my sports bra and yoga pants, and said, "Holy shit woman! You have already lost weight, you're looking great!" I'll take that over a random scale number any day.

I'm going to soldier on through the hellish soreness, and cowboy up and workout again today though my body will be protesting the entire time. Check out the '30 Day Shred' if you get the chance, hating Jillian is fleeting feeling, you'll love her when you're done.

Disturbing Dream Content May Not Be Suitable for Everyone Viewer Discretion is Advised

I have had the same nightmare for the last four nights.

I am sitting in my bedroom reading, there is a knock at the door and a man comes in holding two children and a woman comes in holding a third. I recognize Taylor and Nibblet immediately, the third baby is covered in a blanket, I cannot see him/her but can hear the baby humming.

The babies are sat down on the bed and I play with them for a while, then the man and woman come back in and ask me which one I would like to keep. I say I want to keep them all, and they laugh and say that it doesn't work that way. I can only keep one, the other two have to die and I have to watch. I look down at the three of them, all beautiful and smiling, and start to cry, I can't make the choice. The woman says that if I don't they will kill them all.

In my dream I would give anything to have Taylor back, but I cannot bear the thought of losing Nibblet. When I look at the third child, I know the baby is mine, but I can't make out features. I want that baby too, I want to keep the smiling faces of them all. I reach into my nightstand and take out my razor. In my dream I'm thinking, 'I can't choose, I can't pick just one and watch the other two die. If I do this all three will get to live.' I'm cutting my own throat before I realize it. Taylor and Nibblet start to cry heartbroken sobs and crawl up into my arms. The other baby sits up and watches, not making a sound. I die holding the two of them and looking at the other.

This is strange for me for one reason. No, I often have nightmares about losing my children. They are often graphic and violent and gut wrenching because I know what it is to lose one. This dream was different because I died. I've never died in a dream, ever. I always wake up right before I die in other dreams. It's something different to watch yourself die in a dream. I woke up gasping for air and sobbing. I am unable to go back to sleep when I finally settle down, not like I should be able to after dreaming all that. I'm writing it down and posting it here in hopes of stopping it from happening again tonight.

The One Where I Curse....A Lot!

As stated in the previous post, I am having some technical issues with regards to my emotional state. Nothing to fear, I don't hear voices (well any more voices than usual), I'm not going to hurt myself (although I can't promise people who annoy me are safe), and I'm working through them. The way I work through my issues is with writing, whether it be here, Facebook, Twitter, or writing new short stories, I write, it's what I do. I think it's safe to say, it's who I am.

For the last few months I have been toiling on a new story, my first attempt at a manuscript I might actually let someone else read. It was a good story, great characters, and some of my very best work, thankyouverymuch. On Saturday morning, lying in bed I whipped out my jump drive to work on a scene I had been playing around with in my head, and popped it into the laptop. Hold the phone?! Nothing happened. I removed it and then retried, zip, zilch, Nada, nothing, niet. FUCK! Okay Chick, no panicking, pull out the other laptop and try there, still nothing. Went into the study and tried it on the desktop. CRAP! To say that I had a small meltdown would be an epic understatement. It could be called a conniption fit, apoplectic rage, hell you could even say I hit Defcon 1 and emptied the missile silos. Thank the gods I was home alone at the time. C would have had me carted off to the loony bin.

Now you might think I was overreacting, but you would be wrong. You would be so wrong that it would like the light from right about 6.8 billion years to get to where you are. In fact, I under reacted. That was 148 pages of my most brutally honest, painful, beautiful work that was gone in a nanosecond. It was 3 1/2 months of my life that I will never be able to recreate. Don't mention that I should have had it backed up in 29 different forms in 200 different places, I know that it's my fault, I'm not blaming anyone but me for being so stupid.

The only good thing to come of it was that I invented new and exciting forms of old crusty swear words, and I plan on trotting them out the next time I get the chance to. I even wrote a few down so I wouldn't forget.

The One Where I'm Sorry

Hello friends, long time no see, how ya been, how the hell are ya, and all that jazz. I have no excuses for not writing sooner, I could make some up, but...nah, I don't have enough energy for all that at the mo. This is a blog post for a few people, you know who you are, you know what I've done, and here is the post, The One Where I'm Sorry.

You may have noticed a distinct detachment in me lately. A disconnect, if you will, that I don't know how to explain without ending up in a psych unit somewhere, but know that I am starting to realize how much it has affected those around me. There are no problems with the adoption, it was finalized on August 17th, Nibblet is officially ours, his name forever changed from the creeptacular name his bio-uterus gave him to Nibblet Mancub Pseudonym. Couldn't be happier, cried when it happened, I'm not giving out details because that uterus is still lurking out there and I don't want her tracking him down.

Back to my issues, for the last 3 months I have been slowly withdrawing into myself, there are a variety of reasons for this, none of which I will explain here or in real life, my problems are mine and frankly you all already know I'm nuts, I don't need to give you specific incidences of my insanity. I hadn't realized how total my withdrawal had become until family and a few close friends started to say little things (which I didn't notice) medium things (which I ignored) and then finally all out worry about me, and I realized that my biggest problem right now is that I am selfish when it comes to sharing my pain.

I'm sorry that I have said things that caused you worry, I am okay, one day I will even be fine, if there is a god I may even be good one day. I'm sorry that I have made you all feel so helpless with regards to fixing me, I am not broken in a way that I understand, so I don't know what help to ask for. I'm sorry that I have made you feel like I don't care about what's going on in your lives. I swear that I do, I love you all so very much, I just spend most of my time masking what I'm thinking and feeling it leaves me expressionless in all aspects of life.

I'm taking steps to get better. I'm taking care of me too, not just Nibblet and his daddy. I'm doing things now to help me get back to normal, as normal as I ever was. I will hopefully be the daughter, sister, niece, friend, and confidante you all need soon. I'm sorry to make you wait.

I love you all.

Fosse, Fosse, Fosse, Jazz Hands!!!!!

I had a flat tire this morning. While that does suck beyond the telling of it, I also have a husband who has a handy-dandy little doohickey that will fill my tire back up allowing me to get to the tire repair place. Let's call this place 2's shall we? I'm all about anonymity. Anyway, I get to the tire place at 6:55 a.m. and they take me right away. I pull into the assigned spot and get out of my car to tell the tire tech what the problem is. He says, "How can I help you?" in a heavily accented tongue and I tell him, "There's a nail in the driver's side back tire, I would like it patched not plugged."

He says, "Que?" I repeat my request and he nods, I hand him the locking nut and he walks off to the back of the building to get his gear, but comes back shortly and says, "Que?". Completely non-plussed I proceeded to try to mime my way through explaining that there was a nail in the back tire, patch it not plug it, and I don't speak enough Spanish to tell you this any other way.

Sigh, he still looked like he wasn't getting it, I pulled out the last card I could play and begun an interpretive dance complete with Fosse, Fosse, Fosse, Jazz Hands!!!! I don't know what it was about that last time that made it click but he said, "OH!" and nodded his head yes, after he took off the tire, found the nail, and confirmed that I wanted it patched not plugged (I almost throttled him), he went off to fix it. I look over and there is a man in a suit standing there looking amused.

"You don't speak Spanish?" he asked.

"I speak enough to ask for 2 beers, a shot of tequila, and to ask where the bathroom is." I said.

He smiled, "Next time say..." and he chattered of something in Spanish.

I suppose there was a definite look of murder in my eyes because his smile wavered and he said, "I probably should have tried to help."

You freaking think so, asshat? When my tech came back and put the tire back on my car he smiled and said, "Sorry." There was nothing to be sorry for, it was a simple communications error that could have been avoided if I had actually paid attention in high school Spanish. Then again, I don't know that I could have learned enough to tell him that I had a nail in my back driver's side tire, and I wanted him to take it out, patch it not plug it, and thank you very much.

I considered running over Senor Imadipshit Ispeakspanishbutletyouflounderon, my way out of the lot, but there were too many witnesses.

Happy Birthday Baby Boy!

Dear Nibblet,

I know you didn't know that today was your birthday, or why everyone you saw today fell all over themselves to hold, hug, and kiss you, but today you turned an amazing one year old. Daddy and I love you so much, little man. We don't remember life without you even though you have only been with us for one year. We look back on the last year and are in awe of you. Who could have imagined that the journey to get you in our arms would have been so very worth the wait?

I watched you today at the Aquarium, mesmerized by the stingrays and penguins, and couldn't help but get a little drippy around the eyes. Seeing your big blue eyes light up with amazement at the new things you were seeing, watching you look puzzled when Daddy tried to get you to pet a stingray, and watching you sleep on your Grandma's shoulder were overwhelming but beautiful. I thank the higher powers everyday for you. I love you so much that it hurts to be away from you during the day when I am at work. I can't wait to watch you grow and become a special little person then a man.

Happy Birthday, Nibblet.

Chaos Theory

Even the best laid plans are shot to hell sometimes. I had visions of a misty eyed husband watching a sweet video of his baby boy Sunday morning, sipping his coffee in bed, and eating the breakfast I made for him. I also envisioned my sleepy eyed almost one year old sleeping past the ass crack of dawn on Sunday morning so that I could make said breakfast. Ah, how I dream.

How Father's Day morning actually played is different that what I envisioned, but was still wonderful and sweet. I purchased the camcorder and got to work reading up on how to use it, so that I would be fully educated on the knobs, buttons, geegaws, and hoosywhatsits when I took it out to film Nibblet. DH was 'on call' which usually means he will be at work on a Saturday from about 8am until 2pm. 6 hours of the Daddy at work would be more than enough time for me to cajole plenty of blown kisses, Dada's, and raspberries out of Nibblet, splice them together, lay down a sweet music track, subtitle the film, and create a Star Wars-esque opening sequence while his daddy was at work. Really, in my head this home video was going to win an award at Sundance next year.

As it turns out, not once on Saturday did my husband leave the house. Not.One.Time. So there was no video footage, no chance for editing, no picking of soundtracks, Nada. 'Oh well,' I thought, 'he never knew that was the plan, so he won't know what he's missing.' I decided not to let it annoy me, and focus on making his first Father's Day morning a special one.

Nibblet, sweet honeypie blue eyed, Nibblet. He got up at 5:30am on Sunday. Now, granted I wanted to get up early to make chocolate chip pancakes, scrambled eggs, and bacon, but 5:30am afforded me enough time to get up, go out to the chicken coop to pick eggs, out to the pig sty to select which hog to slaughter for bacon, and cut down the wheat myself to make the pancake mix. Um...I don't think so little man, go.back.to.sleep.

At 7am he was up for good, so I slipped quietly out of bed, turned off the baby monitor so it wouldn't wake his daddy, and got him out of his crib. I fed his little butt breakfast, gave him his bottle and then set him in his walker so I can start on DH's breakfast. Nibblet screamed like I have set him on an ant pile covered in honey. I snatch him up, and he stifles it mid-scream. Hmmm....this could be a problem. I spend the next 20 minutes trying to convince him that spending time in his walker is way more fun than being held, but he's not buying it. I finally accept that I will not be able to make a proper Father's Day breakfast with a little monkey clinging to me, so I start thinking of other options. Donuts! I can drag the baby with me and go get donuts. Not exactly the gourmet breakfast I had planned, but still I can roll with it.

I get myself and his Nibs out of the house and into the car without waking the honoree, and get all the way to the drive thru at Krispy Kreme and realize, idiot! I forgot the wallet with the cash and the debit card, and the license. Crapola! I go back home, come back and pay the amused teenager at the window, and get the hot donuts back to the house before DH wakes up. I manage to set Nibblet down long enough to make a pot of coffee, I get out the flavored coffee creamer that I had been hiding from my husband (because it is his fave), make his cup of coffee, and get ready to wake up Daddy. I turn around ready to balance a smiling baby in one arm and a breakfast tray on the other and find....Nibblet is asleep. GAH!

Daddy and infant slept for another 45 minutes. I drank his cup of coffee, and ate one of his donuts. When they started to stir simultaneously I hurried and refilled the cup, grabbed the baby, microwaved 2 donuts, and brought the tray and a smiling son who was burbling 'dadadadada' down to the bedroom and even without the video got to see a misty eyed husband get choked up on his first Father's Day. Chaos reigns with a cruel to be kind mentality. I will learn to enjoy it.